The Interminable Drive to France

The next morning we are in a terrible rush. Scott is concerned about our reservations for dinner in France. Although after we have gotten going I learn that there aren’t reservations the way Americans think of them, i.e. for a specific time. With few exceptions, French restaurants assume that each table will be used once per evening. Whoever reserves the table can arrive when they like, which generally means afer 6:00 and before 8:30. The economics of this are baffling, since in restaurants in the US, turning over tables is generally viewed as a key to profitability. From a diner’s perspective, however, it is great. We have reserved the table for the evening and we can get there when we like, but Scott thought it would be a good idea to get there around 7:30. I sleep most of the drive with fitful dreams. I awoke at the Swiss border, where I was trying, with a huge, thick tongue that didn’t seem to fit in my mouth, to explain that we needed to buy a toll sticker to drive on the Swiss roads. Erin and Scott didn’t know what I meant, and we were too far through the border to get the sticker, so we just drove on, and I went back to sleep (figuring if we got pulled over we would just have to play ignorant Americans). During my sleep I intermittently woke up to hear Erin reading French phrases and Scott attempting to translate. Finally, just after we crossed the border into France, it was my turn to drive as Scott had to edit a document or give an interview or something, and, of course, I immediately hit traffic. The traffic is moving at a fairly good clip but the road is clogged with trucks, and unlike the beautiful autobahn, the trucks are apparently not limited in their lane choice. It’s like some crazy video game where everyone wants to reach the finish line as quickly as possible and is willing to risk their life passing a monster truck on the right, in their blind spot, if it is going to get them there three seconds ahead of their nearest competitor. Some woman recently wrote a book about why French women don’t get fat, I think her premise was that they basically just look at their food or some such nonsense. I think it is because of the constant fear and adrenalin coursing through their bodies while they drive over-crowded French roads; that special chemical mixture of always feeling like you are about to die has to take pounds off at a rapid pace.

To “The Lounge”

Finally, we decide to head to Konstanz to the bar that Christian and Tom own, called The Lounge. We pick up Marcel and there are four of us, Marcel, Erin, me and Nana all smashed into the back, with Christian driving and Scott up front. Upon arrival in Konstanz, we grab donor kebabs to go for dinner and head to the bar, where Tom is already working. My crazy friend Gunter has come in from Austria to see me and after meeting Scott says he is very nice and that I should give him to Gunter to date. I think it was supposed to be the highest form of flattery but it was just weird. Tom makes Scott some crazy drink called a laser beam that has a sparkler in it. I am glad for the time to practice my German and I am worried that my two traveling companions are getting bored, but of course a few glasses of wine have made me extra sociable.

The Whole Family is in Shock At Andrea's Words

Kuchen & Kaffee Party

We head to the Konditori before attempting to eat to make sure we don’t miss the short window during which they are open.The place is just the same. This tiny store that is at the top of hill attached to a small house. The front has a glass case filled with amazing looking cakes and chocolates. In Germany it is customary to buy pieces of cakes rather than a whole cake. This means one is capable of getting 12 pieces of all different kinds of cakes if one wishes – which we did. While we are making our choices, a girl that I went to school with and who has married the son of the owner comes, out from the back. She looks at me and without even saying hello, says “the last time I saw you, you were very thin.” And she sucks her cheeks in like a fish, and follows that up with “You are two of what you were before, that is no compliment. But, of course that was about 10 years ago.” Okay… I had no idea what to say and she finally just walked off. Totally weird, but hey, its true, I am two of what I used to be, but I also used to be 16.

We grab lunch at a place called the Bad Hotel (which actually means bathing as in swimming). It’s pretty good, a bit formal and a bit expensive, but it was raining out and we are lazy and it is across from the parking garage. Erin and I order from the Sparglekarte (aspargus menu) and then both choose second courses that aren’t on the special menu. Scott gets some pasta with a watercress sauce that is out of this world. His meal is accompanied by wine: (name to be added later) We then think we will try some German red because it is much maligned and we want to find out for ourselves if it is as terrible as it is supposed to be.It is not, but also not something that we would get again. We head home to the Rothwilers and get down to the task of eating cake. The two topics of conversation are Andrea’s rudeness and what Ingrid will do when she visits the US. Previously, Scott and I had told her that as a gift we would like to fly her and Christian to America for a visit using our airline miles (well, Scott’s miles, mine are promised to my Mother for a trip to Greece) Ingrid started crying when we told her because this has always been a dream for her and seeing how happy she was made the entire trip that much better for me.

Grilling Party

That night for dinner we head back to the Rothweilers for what I think is supposed to be a party in the Garden of Nana and Dominik, but turns out to be in the green house at Fritz and Ingrid’s. They had decided it was just too cold outside to grill. The green house is toasty and the food delicious. Dominik grills four or five meats including thick slices of bacon that Scott particularly enjoys, and salmon for Erin (which seems like the fish she gets to eat constantly). The meat and veggies and many German salads are accompanied by Nana’s wonderful garlic sauce that she refuses to give the recipe out for and also her curry sauce. It is a lovely evening. The weather that was perfect during the day suddenly turns to a downpour and we all sit in the green house listening to the rain thundering on the roof. We are all safe from the wet, except for Tom, who insists he has to go to the bathroom, and takes off into the woods with a towel draped over his head. We make plans to get cakes the next day at the Konditori I had worked at when I was 16 – Popp’s – that also just happens to have the best cakes for miles and miles around. We decide on a cake party for the afternoon as it will be our last day to spend some time with the older folks. We also, find wi-fi for the first (and what looks to be our last) time - this allows us, with Nana's help to fill out the internet form for the German Bahn lost and found in hopes of locating Scott's missing bag.

Erin and Tom Hold up the rock and Peek Out of the Old Town Wall

Hiding During the Holocaust

During the Holocaust Jews and other targets of Nazi hatred hid in the caves of the rock formations near the old city wall. For years afterwards the caves were used as storage and are now being made into an historic preserved area.